Carry Me
by jenas
Summary: A retelling of the Clato story, complete with a glimpse of their families and how the two ended up where they ended up.


**A/N: ****This is a slow beginning to a hopefully more exciting story. Is it worth continuing? Try to finish & review, that would be so great! :) **

**Cato**

Mother woke us all up early, as she always had on the day of the Reaping.

And she nearly burnt the house down while trying to fix breakfast for the family. We were served cold, hard bread and crispy sausage because my mother could not cook for her life. It didn't matter, no one ate at breakfast anyway. My stomach was turning. This day was a question. Who was heroic enough to represent the District?

On that particular year, there was no doubt about who; Altus announced that he would be volunteering.

He was 18 and it was his last chance to compete in the Games. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Altus was strong, earned perfect marks at the most prestigious academy in the District. My perfect older brother.

It happened at dinner two nights ago, between bites of soggy salad that Mother had prepared. Altus mentioned that his trainer asked him to volunteer and that he had confirmed it with the D2 panel just over a week ago. Monotone. His face looked like his voice sounded.

My mother had started weeping, as all proud mothers would. My father nodded. "Good job, son," he said three times in a weary pitch.

Father won the Games at seventeen by caving his District partner's head in with a rock. "A life was only worth living if it brought honor to the district." That was his mantra, and that was why me and Altus would be "just like our old man."

So Altus' news meant nothing. I was more interested in the watery mashed potatoes that sat next to my salad. I took a bite to please Mother.

Breakfast ended at an unspecified time because our plates remained full. Each of us prepared for the Reaping in our own ways. Each of us rifled through our closets for the most lavish clothing we owned, which looked like everything else except with brass buttons instead of wood. Atlus was in the bathroom for two hours and would not open the door. I decided against kicking it down. That day was the second biggest day of his life, right after his victory. So I let him brood.

When we arrived at the square, there was a scent of excitement mixed in with the polluted District 2 air. I had never seen so many people in my life. The District grew every year, it seemed. Seeing the neighborhoods bustling was a curiosity reserved for Reaping days. In District 2, everyone knew their place, knew not to stay in line. If you went for a walk, it was to get somewhere. The smog was enough to keep people indoors anyway.

Every inch of the square was occupied. In front of the anxious crowd, there was a looming stone building. Cold and expansive. The District 2 Justice Building. Peacekeepers were situated on the rooftops, gripping their guns. Spines stiff. They looked like white vultures.

The sun was a white hot diamond, merciless as always. Drops of sweat were collecting on my neck and my head spun. Mother ushered me forward with a push on the back. I had to remind myself to walk.

The thought had just occurred to me. I was no longer a spectator.

I had just turned twelve years old. My name was at last neatly printed on a slip of paper in that immense glass bowl, along with my brother's name. Cato Hadley. Even if the odds were against my name ever being picked, it was enough to make me grin.

The peacekeepers jabbed at our fingers, click click, and took our blood samples.

The next ten minutes were a blur.

"Ladies first," I remember hearing. A sickness rose in me and I wanted to push the feeling back down my throat. Shut up shut up shut up. This was a good day.

The escort's claws plunged into the glass bowl. She had grasped her prey. The claws came up with a folded slip of paper. The whole District stared at her in agony as she slowly unfolded it and read the name.

And not a second later: "I volunteer as the female tribute."

All eyes turned toward the voice expectantly. She looked seventeen, was more lithe than small, with eyes a shade of night. Everyone around her cleared away, like she had a reverse magnetism.

"Fera!"

A young girl, with the same eyes as the volunteer, ran out into the open. Her hand grabbed at the older girl's white skirt pleadingly.

"Please." Her voice was soft yet it sliced the silence. "You promised you'd stay." A croak.

Hands wrapped around the girl's waist and pulled her away. But the girl resisted, arms and legs flailing.

"You promised!" she screeched. A ghostly sound. Her voice had an edge of insanity. "You promised! And you lied! You lied to me!"

Chills run down my spine, running, running, running like those words through my head. You promised you promised you promised!

If those words meant anything to the volunteer, she did not show it. A stone cold expression, the look of a victor. I hoped my brother could win against her. The sickness settled in my stomach like a rock. I wanted to vomit it up. I repeated, this was a good day.

The Capitol escort helped the volunteer up onto the platform; it was a formality. They exchanged a word. Then the escort reached for the volunteer's small white hand and lifted it in the air.

"Ladies, gentlemen, welcome your female tribute, Fera Kentwell!"

On cue, the streets erupted into chaotic applause. Her name, Fera, was on the lips of every person in the square. It pulsed through the deserted brick buildings like a melody.

Fera! Fera! Fera! Fera! Fera!

And Fera stood unwavering: unaffected by the sound of her name, gaze hovering above our heads on the horizon. Only her raven black braid was not still, quivering in the soft wind.

"Now for the gentlemen."

The escort took an excruciatingly long second to cull out a slip of paper from the second glass bowl. And then another terrible second to read it aloud.

As soon as the name escaped from her throat, Altus's voice makes itself known. I watched as he strode towards the platform and the sickness became unbearable. No no no. This was a historic day.

The entire district found their breaths caught in their lungs. Alert. The air was sharp as one of Altus's swords. Pride - of course it was, it had to be - began to swell in my chest. It mixed with the sickness and burned up my insides.

His grim face, captured on the immense justice building screen, was blown up so that every pore and every crease of the skin were tangible. Altus was still severely handsome. Angry, but captivating. His frigid blue eyes and Fera's threatening dark ones interlocked.

I was a kid, but I knew the intensity of the exchange. It said, "Nice meeting you. Shame I'll have to kill you."

I learned from that moment to abandon attachment. I had to numb, to kill any emotion. Kill, kill, kill. Kill to get home. Victory for the district. It was everything and more.

And in that, I also learned that I craved it. I craved glory and I craved the path to it. I knew someday it would be me standing in front of the vast square. Shaking hands with the Capitol woman. Training with my mentor. Wishing the other tribute an empty good luck. Emerging from the arena, damaged, but a champion.

"Please welcome your male tribute, Altus Hadley!"

The square dissolved into celebration. Fera and Altus shake hands tightly. I hoped with all of my being that Altus was not shaking hands with his murderer.

He could do this. He was my brother. I would be just like him someday.

Looking back on it, I realize that my 12 year old self could never have been more right.


End file.
